


a secondhand emotion

by alamorn



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Bloodplay, Captivity, F/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Deacon Frost pieces himself back together, thinking of nothing but Karen Jenson and how she ruined his plans.





	a secondhand emotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoundandColor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoundandColor/gifts).



> Thanks as always to B.
> 
> SoundandColor, I've been trying to write this for you since Smut Swap, so I kind of mixed and matched your kinks list. I hope you like it!

It took a long fucking time to grow his body back, but _la Magra_ was nothing if not patient. It pieced him together cell by cell and when it was done he was _ravenous_. He gorged himself without thought or planning or finesse, draining anyone in his path. It was stupid and careless and unlike him, but he couldn't bring himself to stop or regret, not when he was so damned hungry. Eventually, his hunger eased, but it took a long _fucking_ time to be something he could call Deacon Frost again.

Compared to that, finding Karen Jenson took no time at all.

He’d thought of little else while he was piecing himself back together. He thought of the way she’d threatened him, how she’d yelped when he shoved her in the pit, how she’d clawed her way back out. He thought quite a bit about how she let Blade drink from her, how he would have won without her. If Karen Jenson had had the good grace to die when he told her to, he would have been ruling the world.

It shifted from hate to a kind of admiration around the time he had a skeleton again. Deacon knew what it was to work against a greater power, and if her desperation play had ruined his plan, well, that was his own fault, wasn’t it? He should have killed her himself, drunk her dry and cut off her head. But he hadn’t, and plans changed. There were other gods to summon, other methods of summoning. He’d figure something out. And he’d do it with her by his side. Oh yes, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

He ate before he went to her. It wouldn’t do to face her on an empty stomach. He’d already underestimated her enough for one life — hers, if he was smart, his, if he wasn’t — and hunger made him stupid. It focused him on the wrong things.

So he waited in her apartment. He spent the time finding her weapons. Considering her time with Blade, there were less than he’d expected, but more than enough to kill an unwary vampire. He found his smile growing with each deadly blue vial, each silver stake. He would enjoy this.

He could smell her coming down the hall, the pungent scent of old blood and disinfectant. That made him smile too — she would have been an amazing vampire. But she’d made her position clear on the subject, and he hated wasted effort.

Deacon Frost sat at Karen Jenson’s table, his lips still pink with his last meal, and waited.

She turned the light on as she came in the door, and then she froze, eyes wide as she saw him.

“Hello, Karen,” he said, as she came to life, scrabbling at the side table for a vial he’d removed. “You’re coming with me now.”

“Like hell I am,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a gun that was almost too big for her hand.

Deacon sighed and was behind her before she could shoot, hand on her throat, pulling her head to the side. Her pulse beat rabbit fast in her neck, and he dragged his nose along it, inhaling. “Mm,” he said. “Lucky for you I’m not hungry.”

“Lucky me,” she snarled, ramming an elbow back into him, stomping on his instep. It wouldn’t have moved him when he was newly turned, and with _la Magra_ still in his veins it just made him chuckle.

“Will you come quietly, or do I have to drain you to unconsciousness?” he asked.

“Blade’s across the world,” she said. “Your little hostage scenario won’t work again.”

He laughed into her neck, nosing up behind her ear. He let his teeth scrape at her as he whispered, enjoying her shudder. “Who said I wanted Blade?”

 

In the end, she came quietly. He’d pointed out that she’d have a better chance of getting away if she was conscious and not fighting off a transformation, and she’d seen it his way. They walked back to his hideout arm in arm, a delightful parody of the lovers they passed. Karen was rigid with fury, and he took great joy in stoking it ever higher, with careful comments and praise for how well she was behaving.

Deacon’s new place was a downgrade, but he’d have a penthouse apartment again. It would only take time, and he had plenty of that. Now, he was staying in one of his hidden nightclubs. They’d been less popular, since Blade killed most of his clientele, so it had been no real sacrifice to close one for business.

Karen curled her lip as they passed the pig carcasses, and shivered as they went through the freezer. “It’s warmer inside,” he assured her, “and the only dead body is mine.”

She didn’t laugh, and he was disappointed for all that he’d expected it. He turned her to face him with a hard hand on her elbow. She met his gaze furiously. “Now, Karen,” he said, “I want us to be friends, and you’re not making that very easy. I’d _appreciate_ it if you did your part.”

She stared him up and down. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”

His mouth twitched in a reflexive dishonest smile. “I’ve found ruthless more useful than charming.” He tugged her closer, so her breath washed hot over his face, her jaw tight with rage. “Now, I can be ruthless, or charming, and you can be dead, or charmed. Your choice.”

Slowly, deliberately, she tilted her head back. Not enough to bare her throat, but enough for the suggestion of it. “How could I resist?” she said, tone flat.

 

The door to her room was too heavy for a human to move. That he’d given her a room to herself was as much to be able to lock her away when he wanted as to give her any sort of privacy. Likely she’d plot up some way to escape, but not quickly. It was worth the risk.

Deacon slid the door shut behind them, and the hate in her eyes finally flickered into fear. It was a nice room, not quite as minimalist as he preferred. He’d made it cozy for her. Thick carpets, soft blankets, two bookshelves packed with books. There was even a bathroom with a tub attached, so she could take a long, hot bath if she wanted. The whole thing was wired with cameras, of course, but she’d figure that out on her own.

“Get on the bed,” he purred. His blood was still hot from the hunt. He hadn’t planned on doing this yet, but why wait? She was beautiful and frightened and there for the taking.

She didn’t ask him what he was going to do. He appreciated that. There should be no pretending between them. “I feel like I can be myself with you,” he told her as she perched nervously on the bed. She was wearing boring brown slacks, which was a problem. She clenched her knees together when he came up to her, but he just took her hand, curling all of her fingers but the index into her palm, and then drawing the index finger into his mouth. There was blood under her nail, and he sucked at it, eyes heavy lidded, watching her.

Karen’s mouth fell open a little bit, eyes flicking around the room, searching for an escape. When he’d gotten every trace of blood from under her nail, he pulled away, scraping his teeth over her finger as he went. Not hard enough to make her bleed, just a reminder that he could. “I thought doctors were supposed to wear gloves, Karen. Awfully naughty of you not to.”

Her free hand curled into a fist in her lap. He gave it maybe another minute before she tried to hit him.

He knelt, and when she flinched in shock, he took her foot in his hands, worked off one shoe and sock, then went to the other. “Lie back,” he said. “Relax.”

“Not a chance,” she said, voice tight.

“Oh? Ruthless, then,” he said, and stood, shoving her to her back and ripping the fly of her pants open. The button popped off, and she hit him in the side of the head with all her strength. “Finally,” he said, and pulled her pants down. While she was sitting back up, raining blows on his head, he sank his teeth into her thigh, his fangs still tucked away. He was punishing her, not turning her, after all.

“ _Fuck_ you,” she bit out, punching him one more time in the head before the pain made her sink back onto the bed.

He licked the sluggishly bleeding ring of punctures once more, then turned to her pussy. She was still wearing her underwear, practical cotton panties in black. He nuzzled at the gusset, breathed deep. She smelled so good, this human. He was going to enjoy this.

He pulled her panties to the side and licked her slit. Her blood was still sweet on his tongue, and it mingled delectably with the tang of her pussy. She made a noise above him, probably a protest, but it sounded close enough to a moan to make him smile into her.

They would get along so much _better_ if Karen just gave in.

It had been a long time since he last ate out a human. The life in her gave the whole act a certain savor, so he took his time with it, enjoying himself. She started whimpering as he slid his fingers into her and tongued her clit, and when he glanced up the length of her body, she had a hand stuffed in her mouth.

When her thighs were trembling and tension had turned her body into a bowstring, he stopped. Full as he was, he licked at the bite on her thigh once more before he sat back on his heels. “Karen, sweetheart,” he said, an edge to his voice that he couldn’t hide and didn’t much care to. “I want to hear you.”

When she pulled her hand from her mouth he could see the dents her dull human teeth had left. It took her a moment to recover herself — her hands were trembling, and her knees started to close before he caught them with a dangerous smile — but recover she did, propping herself up on her elbows, looking ridiculous in just her blouse. He’d have to pull that off her too. “What do you want me to say, baby?” she asked, mockingly. “I’m gonna turn you human and fuck you up.”

He tilted his head as he undid his pants. “I was thinking begging, but if it helps you get off,” he said, and stood. “You can take your shirt off, or I can do it for you,” he finished, hoping she’d leave it for him.

She stared him down for a moment, long enough that his fingers started itching to rip her shirt open, and then she started to unbutton her blouse. It revealed smooth skin and a practical black bra that seemed less an intentional match with her panties than a matter of luck. When she was finished shrugging both off and was bare before him, except for her twisted panties, he touched her jaw and turned it to the side, exposing the scars Blade left when he drank from her.

“I would have won without you in the way,” he told her. “You can think this is because of that if you want.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked.

Deacon smiled at her for a moment, then lined up his cock with her pussy. He squeezed the bite on her thigh for good measure, and when she yelped, he pushed home, one quick stroke that sent him to her core. She was wet, but almost painfully tight, a combination that had him rolling his head back and glorying in the sensation.

When he opened his eyes and began to thrust in earnest, she was glaring murder at him. He slid his hand around her throat again and used his thumb to angle her head away and give him a good view of her scars. “I think I’ll give you my own set of those,” he said. “Where would you like them? Over the first? On your tits?” He squeezed the bite on her thigh once more and she hissed in pain. “What about here?” He ran a thumb through the blood welling from the wounds, and moved it to her clit, watching carefully as her expression changed from pain to pleasure and then to a desperate fear of that pleasure.

He angled his thrusts to hit that part of her that made her flinch from the pleasure, pressed his thumb more firmly to her clit, and when she shuddered with release, he dropped his head to her chest. He mouthed at her nipples as she tried to tense away from him. Then he brought his hand up to smear blood and slick across her chest.

Something was missing. It was fun, sure, looking down at the mess he’d made of her, the hate in her eyes, and she was tight and hot around him. It almost made him feel alive, which was disquieting. It was fun, but kind of rote. He wanted more from her.

When it clicked, he paused, as deep in her as he could get. He played with her clit, almost idly, until she was clenching and tensing around him, trying not to come again. “Tell me you love me.”

She laughed in his face.

He laughed back, locking his hand around her throat and starting to squeeze. “Come on, baby,” he said. “I already know I get your pussy wet.”

She snarled and punched at his elbow, so he leaned down, so his elbow pressed into the soft spot below her sternum and their faces were only inches away. He dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth and nosed up to her ear.

“Tell me you love me.”

She wheezed and he loosened his grip. “You’ll have to kill me first,” she whispered.

He hummed and tightened his grip once more. The scars on her neck were rough under his fingers and he thought again about reopening them, making them larger, making them his. He started to thrust again, lazily, at the thought. She clawed at his shoulders with every thrust as it shoved her harder against his hand.

He kept her like that for a while, allowing her a single gasping breath, long enough for her to gasp out an insult and then choking her again. It still wasn’t _quite_ enough for him, so he made her come again. Tears rolled out of her eyes and down her temples into her hair. He leaned down and licked one up.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded a third time. “I won’t ask again. I’ll just make you come, over and over, until you’re begging for it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, but he’d seen something shift in them. He released his grip on her throat and moved his hand to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers with a kind of patient curiosity.

“I…love you,” she whispered, eyes still shut tight. It wasn’t very convincing, but his cock didn’t care. Something settled into place, and he was coming before he knew it, balls tight and cock twitching. When he pulled out of her she shuddered and rolled over, curling into herself on her side.

He lay down beside her, taking her in his arms, nuzzling her hair. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he was content.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said, her voice raw but even and confident, as if she was gifted with prophecy.

He smiled and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I look forward to your attempts,” he said, and found he meant it.


End file.
